Sometimes I hate myself when I look in the mirror. I hate my eyes that are too big, my skin that is too red, my hair that is too thin, my teeth that stick out too far (or at least so my dentist says).
Sometimes I hate myself for being too large. I hate myself for being too tall, too wide, for having too much extra fat on my waist and my thighs. Sometimes when I give in and step on a scale all I want to do is cry. I hate myself for seeing a number that I don’t like.
Sometimes I hate myself for being too quiet. When everyone else has something to say, I hate my brain for shutting down, I hate my voice for not speaking up. Sometimes I hate that my presence in a room goes unnoticed.
Sometimes I hate myself for not having enough friends. Sometimes when the few I have are busy and I’m alone in my apartment, I wonder if there is something about me that turns people off—then I remember this list.
Sometimes I hate myself for not fitting in. I wish I could enjoy going out to parties, or be okay with having sex on the first, or third, or twentieth date. Sometimes I hate myself for never getting out of my own head.
Sometimes I hate myself for not working hard enough. I hate myself for not having enough internships, for not being published enough places, for trying to cram learning five weeks of class into the three days before its final. Sometimes I hate myself for knowing that after graduation, I’m going to have it rough.
Sometimes I hate myself for not being who he wanted. I was too boring…too selfish. Sometimes I hate myself for crying in front of him.
Sometimes I hate myself for hating myself so much. I wish I could be the girl who is always confident, who does yoga and goes to bed at night with a smile on her face.
Sometimes I hate myself for feeling too much.
But sometimes I remember that all the people I know and love have hated themselves at some point in time. I remember how beautiful my roommate looks when she tells me her vulnerabilities. I remember how relieved I feel when my best friend complains to me about hating something in herself that I hate in me. I remember that behind every smile and perfect photo on Instagram is a person struggling to figure life out like the rest of us. I remember that sometimes I may need to re-teach myself my own loveliness, and I may need to do it more than once a day.
I remember that sometimes I hate myself, and it’s totally okay.